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dycefic · 3 years

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Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

#welcome to Evil Mart #good is not just good #evil is not just evil #people are complicated #and so is retail #tw graphic #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #it's a supervillain story #supervillain shit happens #you are now warned

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dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 2 years

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Prompt idea: Danny and Jazz are related to Barbara Gordon.

Maddie Fenton is Jim Gordon's wife's cousin, which makes her kids Barbara's second cousins. Jim doesn't want to alienate Babs from her maternal relatives so they paid a visit on Jim's day off... Or at least Jim wished it was a day off, Jim took one look at the safety hazard and child endangerment of a home and decided then and there his taking these kids home with him, batman be damned. (And he still hasn't heard about the holiday depression, hate crime and blantant war cry yet). There are day's where Jim wonder's if it was the right call to bring this kids to Gotham, the kids sure think it is!

hmm, so to start I'd say that similar with Vlad, Maddie and Jack kinda just ghosted their families. not intentionally but once they became a couple, brain cells kinda faded and they're either off inventing or being totally in love. you have to be the one to put an effort in to stay in their lives and not everyone has the time or energy for that. add that they're ghost obsessed and obnoxious, and were already skating the line of legal before they got together and the Fenton's aren't talked to much. actually that could explain why they so easily believed Dani was a cousin. they have extended family they just don't pay enough attention to it to know what going on in it. the only reason Aunt Alicia had Maddie present for her divorce was that Alicia called her. they tend to forget you exist until you remind them. likewise with Vlad contacting them. they probably just lost track of time until he reminded them ‘hey we used to be friends >:)’ and then it was like no time had passed to them even though it's literally been years.

Jim's wife didn't make an effort to stay in contact with the Fenton’s. that part of the family wasn't even aware that the Fenton had children. after Barbara Sr. walked out on them (on Christmas too) Jim made an effort to track her down and keep the family together. his effort lead to him contacting the Fenton's and eventually trying to have a relationship with Barbara Sr. extended family. the kids deserved to have a family after all and he didn't think he was being a sufficient enough father with how much he had to work. so he agrees to bring the kids and visit, and see the portal that Jack raved about for twenty minutes. note, at no point in this phone call did Jim learn that Maddie and Jack had kids. so the family arrives and that's a surprise. the first of many bad surprised. because, speaking as someone who's seen his fair share of them, the Fenton house is like a mad scientist's lair. the weapons, the glowing liquids, the invasion of Fenton tech in every room, the ops center, and worst of all the actual lab that has a whole as portal to another dimension in it. equally concerning is that when he offered cook he found almost no uncontaminated food in the cupboard and was attacked by possessed ham when he opened the fridge.

when he finally meets the kids, Jazz and Danny, he starts asking some definitely pointed 'is this child abuse' questions, ones he asks kids he meets at work. Danny isn't trusting enough to answer beyond what amounts to 'I love my parents, get out of my house'. but Jazz has 'a finally I've been validated' moment and brings out the psych file on all her parents bad behavior, somewhat naively not realizing this will effect her parents custody over them. she kinda thinks everything will be solved if her parents enter therapy and counselling and calm down on the ghost stuff. it didn't occur to her she was describing criminal behavior to a cop. yeah. Jim Gordan has encountered too many super villains to let these kids stay here.

and sadly for the kids the law is really on his side. it seems almost like the Amity Police were waiting for a charge to properly stick on the Fenton's and once they could throw the book at them, they throw it hard. it becomes a whole thing. Jazz is smacked with guilt and regret. Danny is pissed at everyone; Jazz, Gordan, his parents, the cops. Phantom might actually be spotted trying to destroy evidence and get the Fenton's off but there's too much evidence and too much bias, and the closest to freedom the Fenton parents are going to get is a trip to Arkham. especially because every attempt they make to prove their innocence reveals more illegal stuff they were obliviously doing. it's a losing battle and a mess for everyone involved.

eventually the portal is properly shut down, their research was seized by the government, and Vlad comes around to gloat like an asshole even as he doesn't successfully get custody of the kids. because if Danny's parents are going to jail danny's going to make damn sure Vlad goes with them. which you know further complications. Danny doesn't directly reveal Vlad's secret, he just reveals the crimes, with Tucker's tech help and leads them towards the fact that Vlad's a meta and has a lab and a whole other portal in his basement. getting charges to stick to Vlad is a whole lot harder, and this time Danny is just flying around in the background, helping the police and making sure Vlad can't superpower his way out of the situation. the police end up concluding Vlad's powers are from ecto-contamination so anti-ecto weapons and shields work on him and are used to keep him contained. they don't know he's a halfa at least and he's not interested in revealing himself or Danny because that reveal would take him out of prison and onto a lab table. right now it's important that the government believe. he ends up in Arkham with the Fenton's wearing one of those belts that shorts out his powers and usually in a cell with a ghost shield. the guards have anti ghost tech added to their uniform. Jack spends a lot of time annoying him while there.

i know you said the kids are happy but i don't think they are. Jazz is wracked with guilt because she helped get her parents arrested and broke up their already broken family. Danny, as mentioned, is literally pissed at everyone. he was taken from his home and his job, he just lost his parents, his best friends are now a city away, he doesn't even have ghost to take out his aggression on. the government having his parent research is also going to be a major issue later, especially now that they know ecto-contamination can give people ghost powers. a lot of that is going on out of sight rn though. will a portal eventually be opened in Gotham? probably. will it effect the lazarus pit? absolutely. is both of these things going to be a problem for everyone? haha, yeah.

meanwhile you have Barbara dealing with the abandonment of her mother, and her father's abrupt adoption of two more kids. like she gets why they couldn't stay with their parents, she also saw that house. but adding two traumatized children to the mix isn't going to help keep their family together. especially when Jim is still working long hours and they're all just left alone in the house together. and James Jr. has sociopathic tendencies and was low key the reason his mom walked out. i think it's entirely safe to say they he doesn't want these two strangers in his house. Jim is still grieving about his wife leaving too and he is not in a good place to be taking care of kids. he's trying but he's not around enough and basically throwing himself into his work hoping things will be better when he gets home. he's trying to do right by them but he's also now a single parent supporting four kids. Jazz and barb do what they can to help by getting part time jobs but both want to go to college and leaving Danny and James alone in a house together doesn't bode well.

i definitely see Danny and James fighting hard and a lot. James basically just on principle and because they’re ages are close enough that he can get away with messing with Danny. Danny because he clocked James as a fruitloop from the beginning and doesn’t like being harassed. unfortunately James is manipulative enough that Danny ends up taking the blame for their fights and broken things a lot of the time. Danny receives the label troubled kid and it’s a whole thing, especially with his history of Problematic Behaviour at Casper. Jim tries to get Danny into counseling but the psych programs in Gotham are... yeah. it’s not super helpful.

i’m having a bit of trouble with the timeline because i don’t know when Barbara’s mother left or how old barb was. but canonically at least in the new fifty-two which is the timeline we’re using, Barb is the same age as Bruce. i’m kinda clocking her at 17 or 18 at the time they adopt Danny and jazz, making her and Jazz around the same age. they’re also adopted when Danny is around 15-16. i’m going to say James is a few years younger than Danny. Bruce adopts a 10 year old Dick Grayson when he’s 25, meaning Danny would be around 22-23 when batman gets his first robin. the age that Bruce became batman is a mixed number, most saying he was 26 in the new 52 beaning Dick was adopted before Bruce became batman? but the impression i got from most of the comics was he adopted robin after... unsure about that. we’ll say it happened the same year. Bruce was barely a year into superhero when he finds and adopts a child.

my point is, all the Robins are baby children to Danny. they’re tiny. they shouldn’t be doing hero work. even Dani looks around twenty now. infants. is it hypocritical of him to be treating these heroes as children when he himself was a child when he started fighting? yes and no. he is being that bitch about how young they are, but he doesn’t want these kids to have the kind of childhood he had. he doesn’t know how he survived being a fourteen year old super hero. technically he didn’t.

anyway i’m going to say Danny gets one quiet year where he gets to settle in with the Gordan's, read; hate everything and fight with James. then the government open a portal under Gotham (it’s the nearest major city to Amity and also pretty fucking haunted). so boom Danny is back to the hero biz, slightly rusty and in a new town with new rules. sneaking should be harder in Gotham, but Jim isn’t home enough to notice. Jazz and Barb are doing their best at college and worrying about the boys. Jazz despite her Ivy League dreams ended up sticking closer to Gotham just to look after her brother and to not fuck their budget all to hell. she dreams of maybe going to Harvard as a graduate student but that feels a long way off. the problem with sneaking out successfully is that James is a snitch and Danny has to make a deal with the devil so stop James from selling him out. James doesn’t realize Danny is Phantom but has noticed Danny’s scary eyes and basically concluded he has similar ecto-contamination to Vlad. he also recons Danny doesn’t want that secret out to anyone. note. this is very much a relationship where if Danny wasn’t a hero he could absolutely wreck James. like the only reason James gets away with so much bs is that Danny doesn’t use his powers on humans.

it should also be noted that a 16/17 year old Danny fighting ghosts means that Danny took to heroing in Gotham long before Bruce is. meaning Bruce has another role model. Danny's 'don’t use his powers on humans' rule, means that Danny isn’t doing as much to stop crime as the city needs. he’ll sometimes pop in and scare villains away from doing crimes. show up and spook would be muggers or rapist out of allies. occasionally possess and turn over bank robbers to the police. he’d prevent murders if he sees them. but he’s not really in control of the root causes and he’s rarely in the right warehouses, at the right time to see what’s going down or solve any major mysteries. he leaves the real crime investigation to the unfortunately corrupt police. he’s kinda too wrapped up in his own life to be super aware of the injustice around him. if he sees the problem he interferes but mostly it’s ghost fighting and high school for him

and boy howdy is he wrapped up in ghost stuff. the government wouldn’t just have a ghost portal. they’d have ecto-contaminated people they’ve been experimenting on. some very sick, some developing ghostly powers, sorta like the spectra hospital episode. so Danny would have to deal with those types of characters. there’d be issues with the lazarus pit and league of assassins and he’d probably have to uncover a bunch of stuff about that and possibly get temporarily recruited. new portal probably means new part of the zone, so Danny would be getting new rouges on top of the old ones who swing by for old times sake. the Fenton’s and Vlad have been getting to know the people in Arkham and are probably going to break out at some point. the Fenton’s purely because they want to see their kids/ hear there’s ghosts in Gotham. Vlad to get revenge. also the Fenton’s are going to be fully labeled as villains at this point despite their relative naive innocence. they’re not actively trying to hurt anyone but if they supply Mr. Freeze with ectoplasm to help his wife and if they supply ghost weapons and some regular weapons to their other friends and end up doing wild research with the other scientist in Arkham well they’re just stacking charges. i do want a plot where Mr. Freeze’s wife successfully returns from the dead but as a mostly ghost and a lot of her personality has been lost to obsession. she’s his wife but not the woman he fell in love with. a whole oof situation that’s gonna fuck Mr. Freeze up and probably make him the Fenton parents enemy because they ruined her body. he can’t even have a second chance at this,.Danny’s down to help the new ice halfa (3 quarters? 75 cents? Danny would work on a quippy name later) and he’s sympathetic to mr. freeze and pretty much immune to the whole ice attack thing. so they kinda end up friends who fight when the Fenton’s are involved. Danny is trying to get Mr. Freeze to Jazz for therapy.

will this be a jazz is an Arkham therapist route? maybe? will this be an Arkham guard Danny route? sure if Jazz is there. he’d remain a full time ghost hero on top of that though. and when Bruce finally gets around to being batman and solving crimes, Danny’s would have been the established hero in Gotham for at least seven years. he’s far from a perfect hero by anyone’s definition. he fucks up a lot. but he’s the hero that’s there and enough people have stories of being saved by phantom that his reputation isn’t terrible.it’s not what i would call good, but it’s not terrible. Danny and Bruce are going to overlap a lot and i’m torn on Bruce’s stance on the hero because on the one hand, Danny is a hero. he’s doing more than pretty much anyone else is to save and protect the citizens of Gotham. but he’s not doing enough. he’s not attacking the problem or corruption. he’s not scaring villains straight. he’s too busy fighting ghosts. the ghosts definitely need to be fought, Bruce appreciates it, but sighting ghosts wouldn’t save his parents. you know what, Bruce likes him. he still became a hero because the ‘not enough’ stuff but he’s genuinely glad to have phantom protecting Gotham and he looks up to Danny despite Danny being younger than him. Danny is more tenured. this will definitely be a Danny’s in the justice league story, he gets to be a founding member. they end up working together a lot, two sides of the crime fighting coin.

it also doesn’t take terribly long for Bruce to figure out that phantom is Gordan’s troubled son. he ends up seeing a lot of himself in Danny the person and tries to adopt him despite Danny already legally being an adult and still considering the Fenton’s his parents. after that they just kinda end up as friends. adult friends who just happen to be superheroes on top of everything. now i’m imagining Danny running in the gala circles and it’s funny to me. you know Sam and tuckers careers are going to take off and they’re going to manage to join those circles, ironically only showing up to parties if Danny is there. people tend to sneer at Danny because he’s just the son of a cop, and has a record on top of that. but Danny, Bruce, Sam, and tucker are chaotic together.i also see Alfred as being so proud that Bruce made an honest to got friend that in his mind Danny can do no wrong. Alfred will spoil Danny whenever Danny comes over and Danny’s living standards were already so low that he’d be amazed at anything Alfred offered. Alfred becomes determined to fatten Danny up.not that Gordan doesn’t feed his kids. but single dad cop budget is very different from billionaire budget. i didn’t know i needed Bruce to have an adult friend/ sorta mentor until this. i mean he has the other supers, but this feels a little more equal because Danny is already established and vetted before Bruce becomes a hero. just the fact that they live near each other makes is easier for Bruce to have consistent friendship with Danny.

now lets add big sister barb, except she and Danny don’t know each others secret identities. she gets the impression that phantom is familiar but initially writes it off as her hearing about phantom from jazz and Danny because that’s where the ghost was originally from. note: people assumed phantom followed the portal to Gotham. no one connects it to Danny, especially because the first year Danny is in town he doesn’t really advertise his superhero persona as being around. he still goes on late night flies, but even if someone spotted him they’d write it off as imagining things. but so it takes time for them to find out that they know each other as civilians and it becomes a whole thing. i could imagine both of them going to jazz for help and jazz looking at them, knowing full well who they are, and not realizing that they don’t know who the other is. and it’s a whole comedy of errors. barbs thinks phantom knows jazz because they were from the same town, Danny thinks Batwoman knows jazz because they’re both collage age and jazz is a genius. somehow they come out of this interaction still not knowing each others identity. Bruce also becoming friends with Babs and inviting her to galas, and Babs and Danny attending together as siblings unaware that both their connections to Bruce came from being superheroes and not from the fact that they’re Jim Gordan’s kids. sibling teasing ensues alongside some healthy suspicion and “Danny, please don’t embarrass me” “i’m going to do nothing but embarrass you because you said that.” i’m here for the chaos. i’m here to put off their secret identities being revealed for as long as possible just so when the reveal happens it’s as dramatic as possible.

is it going to be when Babs gets paralyzed? i think it’s going to be when Babs gets paralyzed. Danny will also go feral on the joker for hurting his sister. and it’s a whole different ball game then the joker is used to because Danny has powers. everyone got to used to Danny holding back. the joker isn’t prepared. so jokers hatred of Danny is going to become a thing for a while. joker teaming up with the Fenton’s because they still hate phantom could also be a thing. oof. nothing is easy ever. at some point James is also going to return to the plot knowing more about Danny’s secret than he should, possibly accompanied by Vlad. just a lot of potential drama and chaos to be had.

uncle Danny, being a thing with the Robins would also be cute, since he’s significantly older than all of them. i can see him solemnly giving each kid the “don’t be a teenage superhero speech” and all of them ignoring it and becoming heroes anyway only to years later realize, yeah Danny was right we shouldn’t have been teenage superheroes. Jason ends up fully adopted by Danny after he returns from the dead. like similar powers and this guy had my best interest in mind back before i knew what my best interest were. Danny probably being able to help cure the pit rage either through ghost zone stuff or contacting his villain parents. sounds like a plan. Danny being very anti murder but totally down with Jason just leaving his family after everything? a mood. Danny being a go between Jason and Bruce but not selling Jason’s location out. there’s some drama there. Danny and Jason vibing over trying to murder the joker. hell yeah. Dick trying to be the oldest sibling and use older sibling rights but being over ruled by cool uncle Danny. Steph and Danny bonding over villain parents. Dani visiting and being a cool older sister. Jim unaware that most his family are superheroes. Damian meeting and falling in love with Cujo and tolerating Danny because of this. Tim having an alarmingly large stalker file on Danny and just being a Phantom fanboy in general. the puns.

this got away from me - Hestia

#dpjl #Danny Phantom #batman #jim gordon #gordan adopts au #barbara gordon #danny fenton #the fact that i can keep going #goddamn #hestiawrites

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random-imagines-blog · 2 years

Text

Unlock It {Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot}

Wordcount: 3827 Summary: Bucky has his kind of therapy. You have yours. Only - yours tends to be a little bit more eclectic than his.

Bucky Barnes was in therapy. It took him a while to admit that to you, that he had been forced into going after everything that happened with The Avengers saving the world against a big bad Titan. Actually, it was easier for him to talk about the big battle and losing Steve than it was to tell you about Dr. Raynor. You didn’t judge him for that. How could you? In this world where it seems like men would do literally anything to avoid therapy, even go on the run rather than open up. You thought it was a good thing, even though he told you that he hated her, hated it and didn’t really talk about anything. So in an act of showing him how good it can feel, how it can really free the soul, you started going to therapy too. Not Dr. Raynor. That would have been too weird. No, you found another therapist. More of a hippy type, truth be told. But you liked her vibes. And she had liked yours.

The office was furnished with macrame and wicker. Even the coasters on which you could rest your water-bottle or the mug of herbal tea that she liked to supply were macrame feathers. Home made from the looks of it. And old. A little frayed. But still very loved. You had liked that about it all - it wasn’t clean and sterile. It was comfortable. It felt like you were visiting an eclectic aunt who just wanted to give you some advice and guidance rather than someone that you were paying to listen to you. It wasn’t for everyone - but it did the trick for you.

You opened up to your Doctor - who refused to let you call her Doctor. “My name is Vicky. That’s who I want to be with you. Doctor is too clinical. Too cold. I want to be your friend, I want to be someone that you feel like you can turn to, that you can talk to.”

That had been exactly what drew you to her - which was weird because it was the same kind of pull that you had towards Bucky when you first met him. Two years ago today. You were walking out of the grocery store, carrying the couple of bags that you got towards the sidewalk so you could catch the bus home. It was New York after all. Driving was just an insane idea. It would have taken you three times as long to get home. Just as you stepped off the asphalt onto pavement, one of your bags ripped. That’s what you get for using plastic bags, forgetting your reusable ones at home. Apples, oranges, they went sprawling down the street. A couple into traffic. A truck ran over one. A cabbie yelled at you over one of the apples. Like you had meant for this to happen.

You gave the cabbie the finger and he went off with another honk. You tried to gather together what you could off of the sidewalk, but it began to make your other bags feel overloaded. You didn’t have much of a choice. Your bus was going to be at the stop soon. If you missed it, you were going to have to wait another half an hour and the heat was sweltering.

The cackles of some teenagers reached your ears. Just what you needed. A group of dumbasses haha and heehaw’ing at you dropping your vitamin C. And not doing a damn thing to help you.

“Oh, yeah, it’s so funny,” You called out to them, annoyed. “Laugh it up. What would you do if I was your mother or your sister huh? Would you just stand there and laugh?”

“Thing is -” One of the teenagers spoke up. Sports jacket. Probably some big shot on a football team somewhere or something. “- they wouldn’t use those cheap ass bags.”

You sighed. Fair play. How were you even supposed to argue with that? You managed to get what was around you and was chasing after a rogue orange when it hit somebody’s shoe. A black sneaker. A gloved hand picked it up. You followed the line of the dark jeans, up over the broad chest of the long sleeved-shirt with sweat marks around the collar, up to the handsome face above. “Ignore them,” The man said, slipping the orange inside of your bags. “Boys don’t know what to do when there’s someone good looking around other than to laugh and fuck it up immediately.”

“Thanks,” You said, “I thought I was going to have to chase that thing up to Manhattan or something. Rogue orange.” He chuckled at your comment, showing off a set of near-perfect teeth behind those pink lips. Whoa. “I’d - better get going,” You said, reluctantly. As much as you wanted to stand there and stare at this handsome man, it might get a little odd.

“Your bag looks like it’s going to break,” He said. He reached into his back pocket - men tend to have those pretty deep, lucky lads - and pulled out a folded up cloth bag. “Here. You can borrow this.”

You weren’t going to argue. These cheap bags - especially with the added load of the other bagful of things. “Thanks again,” You said, gratefully, putting what you had on the ground and started to transfer some of the things over. You were able to fit about two bags worth of stuff in there, thankfully. That made it so much easier. “I have a couple at home, I’m just always forgetting them,” You explained, not wanting to seem like you were entirely stupid.

“Happens all the time,” He nodded, handing you the things to put into the bag until you were able to lift it. Not too heavy. A real convenience.

“Oh, well - I’m that way so...” You said, pointing over your shoulder in the direction that you had been heading before the big split.

“I said you can borrow the bag, not that you can have it,” The man said with a gruff-looking smile, the corners of his blue eyes getting crinkles. “I’ll walk with you, make sure you don’t have anything else spill on you.”

“I don’t usually bring home men I don’t know the name of," You quipped. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell you his name. But he looked at the bag and sighed, finally admitting to it.

“Bucky Barnes,” He told you.

You looked over his face, and then, “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you Bucky.”

That’s how it started. A rogue orange. Some jeering teenagers. You never forgot the reusable bags again. Bucky kept them near the coat closet for you, ready at a moment’s notice. He was always taking care of little things like that while you took care of him on the days and nights he had trouble sometimes. You told your therapist all about him. You wondered, sometimes, if he told his therapist about you. Things weren’t perfect, nothing in life ever is. You sometimes had little spats where he’d grab his coat and go out for a walk because he couldn’t handle the stress of seeing you upset. Sometimes you would leave, and come back to see him fixing something that he had broken. Even after so long, he wasn’t used to the metal arm. He’d grown accustomed to not having it in Wakanda - which he had opened up to you about a little. Sometimes he thought about just taking it off - and you told him to do what made him feel good, not what might make him appear normal to the outside world.

You were bringing up the recent argument to your therapist. “I know he’s holding back and I know he thinks it’s for good reason, all of that control but - I’m terrified of losing him. I just sometimes get the feeling that ... I’ve lost him before.” You didn’t know how to fully explain it but there was this fear, every time that he walked out the door.

“Have you given any thought to what we talked about last time?" The therapist asked. You played with the fringes on one of the pillows, running it between your fingers and nodded, slowly. “Would you like to give it a try?”

“Past-life hypnotherapy,” You muttered aloud. That’s what the therapist thought the reason for your anxieties were. There was nothing in your own life that might have made you feel that way. You’ve been lucky enough not to have feelings of abandonment. You were close with your family. Your former relationships, though they had fallen through for reasons, didn’t end with them ‘leaving you’ so to speak. So this was the outlandish theory of your therapist. To unlock your past life and find out the trauma and move on, somehow. It did sound insane. It sounded absolutely crazy. But in this world with people like Dr Strange, with aliens, with immortal Norse God, super soldiers, did reincarnation really sound so silly? “Okay. Let’s try it.”

“Excellent. Now, I want you to lay out on the couch. Don’t mind the shoes, love, you can keep them on if you’re more comfortable like that, I’ll be vacuuming later anyway.” You did bring your feet up, in whichever way you felt the most comfortable, and laid your head down on the pillow. Your arms were at your sides. You closed your eyes.

She started to talk. The words slipped in and out of your head. Like you were half asleep. You started to feel heavy. You tried to concentrate on the individual words but they slipped right out of your head.

The way that you had slipped -

There were so many people around. It was a wonder that you hadn’t been bumped more than once. But it was this one time that really got you. Two giggly women holding onto one another had knocked you clear over and kept on going without looking back. You had stumbled into someone who had helped you get back up onto your feet. “You alright there, doll?”

The voice was smooth, jovial, but concerned. He didn’t seem to be laughing at you. The lady he was with did, though. You saw her face before you saw hers, thanks to the height difference. A pretty little brunette in an embroidered dress. She let out a high pitch laugh and then tried to tug the man along. But he let go of her arm, unhooked, just to put both of his hands on your upper arms and made sure that you were stable.

“I’m fine,” You said, attempting not to glare at the woman who had laughed at you. You straightened up your back and then finally looked at who it was that was touching you. The dark green of the military was the color of all of his clothes, from his trousers to his shirt, jacket, tie and hat. A military man. How very kind of him. His date, however, seemed not to be the kind sort. She kept on walking. She looked over her shoulder expectantly, like she was waiting for him to follow. But he didn’t, he kept looking over you. “Like I said,” You repeated slowly, “I’m fine. There’s no need to leave your date waiting.”

“I tried to find the girls that knocked you over but-” Another friendly voice. A skinny little blonde boy. He had a nice smile though. But you had the oddest feeling of deja-vu ... but for something that hasn’t happened yet. “Are they okay, Buck?”

“Looks like they’re alright,” ‘Buck’ said, speaking for you.

“Really, I’m fine,” You assured the both of them, but found yourself looking back up at Buck. He was a handsome man - but leaving, and apparently taken. “There was no need for you to go chasing them down. I know not to expect an apology. Thank you though. I think you’d best be chasing after your own girls now.”

Buck looked over your head and then shrugged. “Our dates are malcontents,” He said with a shrug. “They’re just here to try to get a look at Howard Stark, I’d wager.”

“His technology is really advanced, I’ve heard,” Buck’s friend said.

“And I’m here for the fun,” Bucky finished. “What are you here for, doll?” He called you the name again. It didn’t go over your head the way that his eyes did.

“The fun,” You admitted. “But I was thinking about leaving. My sister was supposed to meet me here and she’s just not to be found. Probably found herself a handsome man like you two fellas to keep her company,” You laughed. “It was a pleasure, Buck and - Buck’s friend.”

“This is Steve,” Buck said, immediately, bringing his friend forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The size difference was astronomical. “And he’s the only one who ever calls me Buck. It’s Bucky. Well, James Buchanan but I prefer Bucky.”

“Well hi there Bucky and Steve, names for both faces. It was nice to meet ya. Maybe I’ll see you around,” You gave a wave and turned to walk off. It was hard to take your eyes off of Buck’s face. Everyone else around seemed so bland in comparison. But before you took two steps, a hand clasped yours and you spun around back into him.

“You never gave me your name,” Bucky said, smiling charmingly.

“I-” You barely got a word out before you suddenly found yourself waking up. You were holding the fringed pillow up against your chest, squeezing it tightly.

“Y/N, Y/N,” A soft voice kept repeating. As you were coming out of your dream state, you began to notice the colors on the walls, the macrame. It was all so bright and so vivid. So colorful.

“Where am I?” You asked, feeling like you were coming out of a daze.

“You’re in my office, y/n,” The voice said. “Vicky. Let’s sit up now, and get you a glass of water.”

She explained to you that you had gone into a trance easily enough. You were not explaining what had happened but you were saying some things out loud. Buck. Buck’s friends. It all came back to you. Not just the trance, because for a moment or two there, you really did feel like you were back there. Back in the nineteen forties. Where you had a sister and you attended The World’s Fair where Howard Stark was presenting some of his inventions or something. Tony Stark’s father. What a world. What a life you must have lived then. But then an ache hit your heart, hit your stomach. Bucky had left you then. He would have gone off to the war. He would have been deemed missing, fallen from the train during the fight against The Red Skull, fell down and down and down when he was taken by the Russians and turned into The Winter Soldier.

You had cried for a while on that couch. And Vicky had broken her protocol and sat next to you and rubbed at your back until you felt well enough to go home. You made another appointment. You felt like you were going to need it. Because you had promised Bucky that you’d make dinner tonight and you were going to tell him all about this.

He came home late. Late and grumpy. As he peeled off the gloves that he used to make himself more normal and took off his coat, the smells of spices from the tacos that you had made seemed to make him not slouch as much as usual. “That smells good,” He seemed to say reluctantly.

“Tastes even better,” You hummed from where you set out the different ingredients. “I couldn’t wait. I was dipping into the salsa. Come on, Buck, take a load off.”

“Okay doll, okay,” He said, giving in. The use of that word. That name. It sent a shiver up your spine. Because it was the first time that he had said it to you today - but it was also the third time that you had heard it from you today. He must have noticed your reaction. Damn those sharp eyes of his. “Everything alright?” He asked, looking around the apartment. Looking for anything off, or any sort of threat.

“No one is here,” You assured him. “Everything’s fine. Just - something very odd happened at therapy today.”

“Your therapist is just odd in general,” He said. He picked up a spoon and started to put the filling in his taco shell. “What was it this time? Were your chakras off? Were you not able to open your third eye wide enough?”

You cracked a smile at that. “Vicky means well,” You said, adding some of your favorite toppings onto your own shell. “But I have a uhh - a bit of a weird question.”

“Okay....” Bucky eyed you over the table. His hands were still moving but his face remained expressionless. No- not quite. There was a puppy-like curiosity in those beautiful eyes.

“Do you remember the World’s Fair that you and Steve went to - where Howard Stark was presenting some sort of flying car type thing?”

“I never got to see it,” Bucky said, a smile spreading as he remembered it. “It was right before I got sent out. Got a little err - distracted. Why?”

“You met someone that night. A couple of girls tripped them up and they nearly fell down - you saw the whole thing. Your little date laughed at them, kept walking - did you, did you blow her off for this person?”

Bucky looked conflicted as you caught his eye. His hand was gripping so tightly, the taco shell broke apart in his hands, sending bits of cheese, sour cream and taco shell all over his metal hand. “How do you know that?” He asked, his brow furrowed. His eyes were narrowed. You went to get a napkin to help him clean up but he held you away with his flesh and blood hand. “HOW?” He yelled, making you flinch.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t go about it in the right way. With that accusing look, you realized your mistake. You waved the napkin in the air like it was a white flag of surrender.

“Past life hypnotherapy,” You said. “That’s what Vicky and I tried today.” He snorted. He still had trouble believing that you called her Vicky. He couldn’t ever imagine calling his therapist by her first name. Absolutely ridiculous. “Because we couldn’t figure out the source of this anxiety that I have about-” You froze up, realizing that you had never actually revealed that part to Bucky. You didn’t want to put pressure on him. He had enough of it as it was.

“Anxiety about what?” Bucky asked, his tone still harsh. “About what, y/n? About me? About being around me?”

“The opposite,” You said, knowing that you had dug yourself into a hole and the only thing you could fill it with was the truth. “Whenever you go off for more than a couple of hours, even going and seeing Sam, it makes me worry like crazy that you’re just not going to come back. That either you were going to leave, just decide not to come home or - or that something bad was going to happen to you.” He didn’t answer to this. He kept looking at you. He didn’t soften up in the slightest. “We hashed through everything. My family life, childhood, my exes, my friends, but nothing before you had ever given me this reason. So she had an idea and I went with it because what could it hurt right? And then I saw it all. Well, not all of it. Just some of that night. The falling. You helped me. You made sure that I was okay. You called the girls that you and Steve were with malcontents. Steve tried to find the girls that knocked me over but he couldn’t and I was going to leave but you took hold of my hand and - you called me doll. Steve called you Buck,” You said, going over it in your mind like you had the entire ride back home. “I swear, I’m telling you the truth. The reason why I get so afraid of you leaving is because - you did. You left for the war. And you never came home."

“But I did,” Bucky said. “Eventually. I’m home now.”

That was true. He was. He had come back both missing a part of himself and being overfilled - a broken teacup from Alice in Wonderland that is spilling over. “Yeah, you are, love. You’re home. It’s - it’s been a crazy day, if it stresses you out we don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay. Just - give me a minute.” He turned it over in his head as he went to the corner of the room, opened up the closet and brought out the broom. He swept up his mess into the dustbin, threw it out. Throughout all of this, you just watched him while trying not to show it, trying not to seem like you were staring. But you were waiting for another reaction, anything.

He washed his hands at the sink. Dried them on a paper towel. Crumpled it up, threw it into the garbage can. Perfect score. It went straight in. The man had aim. He picked up another taco shell. Started to fill it. You took a small bite of your own, the hardness of the shell cracking against your mouth. The zestiness of the salsa.

“So you’re clumsy in all your lives then?” Bucky finally said, nearly making you choke. You had hardly been expecting his comment. You swallowed it down and then started to laugh.

“That does seem like a common theme, doesn’t it?” You chuckled.

He finished making his own but before he ate it, he walked around to your side of the table and put his arm around your waist. “That’s two lives you fell for me in,” He said, confirming your earlier suspicions. He was just so damn charming, so easy to fall in love with. Even if he often denied that he was worth loving, he had to know what that smile and those eyes did to people. “How about we just live in this one as long as we can, and not worry about a third?”

“I like the sound of that,” You agreed, leaning in towards him. His lips grazed against your cheek, and then closer to your own. Closer - closer - closer - past?

His teeth closed around your food. “Oh no, oh no no no,” You said, pushing him away as he wiped crumbs from his mouth. He had that grin on his face. That sneaky one. “You keep that up and you’re going to your next life sooner rather than later, Buck.”

“Let’s see you try, doll.”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes oneshot #Marvel #Marvel oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #buckyb #nonrequest

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Long Time Coming

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,664 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, Reader has a few one night stands, Semi-public sex, Unprotected sex, Blow jobs/Face fucking, Hairpulling, Fingering, Praise and degradation, Dirty talk, Accidental reveal of feelings, TW blood/cut Summary: You have been in lust (and love) with Aaron for a while, but his new look sends you off the deep end, and it's enough to make you do some pretty crazy things. *Inspired by @ssamorganhotchner and these three pics. Link to A03 or read below! You are fresh off yet another unsuccessful first date when Aaron wears the new suit. You, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are standing by the coffee maker, complaining about the pitfalls of online dating and how people are never they way they seem when you actually meet in person; you have the carafe in your hand, filling your mug, and when he walks in, face in a case file, his pants so tight you can make out his hips and thighs as clearly as if he were naked… You kind of lose your shit. And your grip.

The carafe shatters when it hits the tile floor, spraying shards of glass and hot coffee everywhere; Emily gasps, Penelope jumps back to avoid the splatter, JJ runs for a broom, and you just stand there, staring at Aaron—at his tight slacks, at his belt, at his shirt, tucked neatly inside, then at his dangling tie, and finally, his worried face.

“Are you alright?” he asks, because you have literally not moved a muscle since he arrived; your boots are covered in coffee—you are thankful you dressed casually today and aren’t wearing heels, or you’d be in a lot of pain—and your heart is racing, but otherwise you feel frozen, unable to move or look away.

You’ve wanted Aaron for a long time, and everyone knows it but him. It’s part of the reason you’re smothering yourself with online hookups and blind dates and one night stands: because he is off limits, and you’re desperately horny for him, and you need to have him fucked out of your mind one way or another.

The new suit further complicates things.

“Fine,” you say after a few more seconds, and JJ comes back with the broom and dustpan, so you bend down to help her clean up your mess. It wasn’t your brightest idea, because you are now at eye level with the tight crotch of his pants, and all you can think of is working the zipper open, pulling him carefully past the fly, sucking him off until those big hands slip into your hair and tug roughly when he comes.

God. You’re going to have to go on another bad date. Or ten.

“New suit?” Penelope asks conversationally, as if you aren’t having a sexual crisis about it three feet away. “Looks good, boss.” Aaron runs his hand down his body self-consciously, but all you see are thick fingers and stomach and hnnngg…

JJ pinches the back of your arm hard, makes a face that screams get it together!!, and you take a deep breath.

“I took some of my old ones in for alterations and the salesman convinced me they were severely outdated. Do you like this style better?”

For some reason, it feels like he’s looking right at you, and you nod, dreamy-eyed, sweep your tongue over your lips.

“Better,” you rasp, and Emily and Penelope agree, probably to take the emphasis off of your slack mouth and dopey one-word answers. You try to help JJ clean up, picking up the larger pieces of glass and dropping them into the dustpan despite her protests—because you are very unfocused, shouldn’t be messing with sharp objects—and when you cut your finger on a piece, she just sighs. Such a mom.

You wince, and Aaron frowns, comes toward you, putting you not only at dick height, but a manageable dick distance, if you were so inclined; really, it’s more if he were so inclined, because you are actually fully prepared to swallow his load right here in front of your friends—all he’d have to do would be snap his fingers and point to his crotch, and the FBI would be suing you for mental distress and using the money to pay for therapy for Emily, Penelope, and JJ.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says, snapping you out of your very elaborate fantasy (typically your fantasies don’t involve court costs, but this is Aaron, so anything is possible.) He wraps his hand around your injured finger and pulls you up to standing with the other, and you just follow along as he leads you over to the sink, turns on the tap to let the water run over your cut. The way you’re looking up at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen has to be painfully obvious, but he just reaches over for the first aid kit, takes out a bandage, and wraps it carefully around the tip of your finger. You sigh.

It may have started out as lust, but you’re pretty sure you’re also in love.

You have got to find a way to get him to notice you as more than just an agent, a teammate, a friend, and so: Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ begins. You fill the girls in on your master plan, and they fill in Derek and Spencer just so there are more people to laugh at you when you crash and burn, probably. But you’ve got a plan, will be pulling out all the stops, so you might not fail horribly after all. Hopefully.

God, you absolutely cannot fail. You can’t go out with another software engineer with the personality of a peanut or another investment banker who thinks buying you an appetizer means you owe him a blow job in the front seat of his Tesla. You will go fucking insane.

Today’s plan is T for tits, because yours are pretty awesome and almost no one who is attracted to women can resist them. You wear your usual white button down top, but you leave the top two buttons undone, and you add a red, lacy bra for a little additional temptation.

“Here are those consults you asked for,” you say after knocking lightly on the doorframe; Aaron waves you inside. You set them down on his desk, then glance over the open folder in front of him, make a curious noise. “What are you working on up here?”

You walk around his desk, so you’re standing next to him, and lean forward to look over the case file with one hand on the back of his chair and the other pressed against the desk. If he would look over, he would see right down your top, your breasts high and smushed together thanks to the lacy push up… but he looks straight down at the file, taps his pen against it.

“Murders in Detroit. I don’t think we’ll go—they look like mob hits to me, so I’m going to refer the case to Organized Crime.” You hum, turn the file toward you and lean in a little closer, letting your hair spill over your shoulder, the neck of your blouse fall open. Boobs and perfume are usually a one-two punch that is capable of bringing any man to his knees, and while he does turn to look at you, it feels entirely too respectful for your liking. You sigh softly, give up for today, and turn the file back.

“Well you know best, boss. Any time I don’t have to go to Detroit is alright by me.” You flash him a smile, and he reciprocates, and you head back downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe a stale shame pastry.

The team looks up at you when you approach, and you shake your head.

“No luck,” you mutter, and Derek laughs, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you’re not very good at flirting. What did you do?” You roll your eyes—your flirting is not the problem, it’s Aaron’s morals and manners or whatever—and walk over to Spencer’s desk, demonstrate with him what you did to Aaron; you put your hand on the back of his chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, lean in, and Spencer swallows hard, licks his lips, and looks abruptly down at his hands. That reaction, you would have gladly taken.

Derek clears his throat, and so does Emily. Hmm.

“I’m good at flirting,” you say, straightening up; Spencer is blushing, and it’s super cute, so you pat him lightly on the head. “Maybe he’s an ass man. I’ll wear a skirt tomorrow and we’ll see if that gets the job done.”

“Good idea,” Derek says, and when you walk past him, he gives you a once over that makes you feel pretty damn good. “In the meantime, why don’t you come and demonstrate on me?”

There’s no denying he is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and earlier on in your career you might have taken him up on it—it would have to be better than Marty McTesla, that’s a given—but you know he’s mostly teasing, even if there is a thin layer of actual desire beneath it all. You just fluff your hair and take your seat and mentally flip through your closet to try to come up with an outfit Aaron can’t refuse. You decide on a pencil skirt, because that’s got to be every boss's fantasy, right? You have one you never wear to the office because it’s a little sexy, tight on your hips and ass, with a zipper up the back that you can open a little and use to your advantage. When you walk into the bullpen that morning, JJ whistles, and you grin, do a little twirl.

“Thank you, thank you. This has to work, right?” You turn to face Emily, then turn away from Emily, butt right in her face. “Emily? This will work, right?”

“That’s... definitely going to work,” she murmurs, tapping the cap of her pen against her teeth, and you have to admit you have a good feeling about this one. For as great as breasts are, your ass is your best asset, and if the open top and red bra didn’t work, this has to be your ticket to some sweet, dirty loving, it just has to.

You all head up for the morning meeting, filing into the briefing room, and you give Aaron a soft greeting and a smile just like every day, and then offer to help him pass out whatever stack of papers he’s holding in his hands—fire drills and emergency protocol, or something boring like that. He accepts the help, and you take the fliers, but instead of walking around and handing them to each member of the team like he would, you bend over the table, reach across, and drop the pages in front of everyone.

JJ is the furthest away, and you practically have to climb onto the table to reach her; you grin and wink when she takes the papers out of your hand, and she shakes her head like you’re too much, but when you stand back up to hand Aaron the extras, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested.

He thanks you for your help, and you take your seat and listen to him go on about emergency exits and fire extinguishers and seriously start to contemplate moving to Europe to start a new life, or something else equally dramatic.

Because you don’t give up easily, you orchestrate one more attempt to get him to show some interest in you. You know he usually goes downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, and that the elevator is a jam-packed nightmare because the main stairwell is currently under construction (which is probably why you needed to go over safety protocol, now that you think about it; shutting down the stairwell seems very unsafe.) You usually pack your lunch, but you can go buy an overpriced salad for the sake of your sex drive, so you wait for the elevator when he does, making small talk about your mornings until it dings and arrives on your floor.

He tries to let you in first, gentleman that he is, but that won’t work with your plan, so you insist, earning eye rolls from the other passengers on the elevator. You give Amy from Forensic Accounting a dirty look and then step in after him, lean back against him because there’s really no fucking room to even take a breath.

He’s taller than you, but with heels on your ass still fits pretty nicely against his thighs; a little too nicely, you think, as you get wet just from standing near him in the elevator, the heat of his body through your skirt. You really are a mess.

There are two more floors to go before the cafeteria, and no one gets off, but more people manage to cram into the elevator, which means you press more tightly against him to make room. Someone bumps into you roughly, which makes you unsteady on your feet; Aaron puts his hands low on your hips to keep you from wobbling, and your eyes literally roll back in your head, but he just leans in to mutter, “sorry” into your ear. You say nothing, because you’d probably moan if you opened your mouth, but you shake your head so he knows it’s not a problem.

When everyone gets off downstairs, you hurry to the restroom and don’t look back, turn on the faucet and splash some cold water against your overheated neck and chest. So much for that plan. All you managed to do was work yourself up into a fury.

While you’re in line to pay for your overpriced salad, you open up your dating app and secure yourself drinks with a hot lawyer for tonight. Seduction is clearly not working with Aaron, he’s clearly not interested, and you have to find a way to move on before you have a spontaneous workplace orgasm and get fired from the job you love—all of his tight new suits have been dark so far, but if he shows up in gray, you’re not going to have the will to survive anymore. You have to plan for the worst.

The lawyer is nice enough, but he’s too short, too thin; it’s hard to imagine Aaron’s body weight on top of you when he’s fucking you, but you’re nothing if not resourceful, so you move your hands to his head of thick, dark hair and focus on that—that, and his hot breath against your throat when he comes a little too soon and mutters “sorry” into your ear.

“It’s okay,” you pant, reaching between you to rub your clit. You close your eyes, tip your head back, clench around him; you imagine it’s Aaron inside you instead, and bury your face in his shoulder when you come.

He’s willing to stay, but you explain why it’s better if he leaves, and then you fall back into bed, fumble for your vibrator, and get off again so you’re not too distracted by reality to really enjoy your fantasy.

It’s a little twisted, but it is what it is. You’re standing in the breakroom a few days later, swiping through the dating app and bullshitting with Derek and Penelope, when this guy pops up on your screen. He’s not your usual type, younger and blonder than you prefer these days, a pilot, but something about his profile makes you pause; when it hits you, you blow out a breath and look up at your friends.

“So you guys know Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ is officially dead in the water,” you begin, and they nod, “and now I’m focusing my energy on trying to get over him. I went on a date with a guy that kind of looked like him, and that didn’t really help, but what if…” You turn your screen to face them; Derek nods like it might be crazy enough to work, but Penelope grimaces.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to work. It might actually be crossing a line,” she says with a frown, and you look to Derek for his input.

“It’s more of a coincidence than anything, right? It’s not like he’s unattractive and this is the only reason you’re going out with him. He’s a good looking guy,” he admits, and you’re really grateful he’s willing to help you rationalize this probably terrible idea into a potentially decent idea.

You send the pilot a message, and he wants to meet up; he suggests a bar near the both of you, and you know it’s risky, but you tell him you happen to make a great gin and tonic and that you have everything you need at home, if he’d like to meet you there instead.

He does, and you don’t even make him that drink, just take off his clothes, get him into your bed.

“That’s right, babe—wanna hear you lose it for me. Say my name, gorgeous,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, and you close your eyes, fist your hands in the sheets, and give him what he wants.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron. Fuck me harder.” His thrusts are already rough and punishing, but this is the best you’ve felt in a really long time, so you’re eager, desperate for more. “Yeah, Aaron, just like that.”

“Tell me my big cock feels so good in your pussy.” He slaps your ass, and you moan involuntarily, press back against him, panting.

“Your big cock feels so good, Aaron, so good in my pussy. Fuck me, Aaron, destroy me.” He grunts, tenses, and moves his hands to your shoulders, slamming your body tight against his as he comes. “Yes, don’t stop, Aaron, don’t stop,” you plead, hips working together, and when he smacks your ass again you come gasping his name, collapsing against the bed with a breathless sigh.

You feel a lot dirtier than you expected you would, even though it was kind of awesome, and ultimately Penelope was right; it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t do a damn thing to help you forget about the only Aaron you actually want in your bed. Monday morning, Aaron comes into the office wearing a tight navy suit with a striped white shirt and a navy tie, and you follow him with your eyes from the glass double doors all the way up to his office, mouth open a little. Your eyes get heavy and your breathing picks up, which is the dumbest biological reaction to a man’s ass you’ve ever had—but god, it’s a perfect ass—and JJ has to actually lightly slap your cheek to get you to snap the fuck out of it.

“Are you horny right now?” she asks, a little grossed out. “I can’t handle you.”

“I know you guys all call him a tightass, but I mean, if the pants fit… and god, do they fit.” You pick up a case file and fan yourself with it. “He’s so fucking hot. What am I supposed to do? Getting railed by fake Aaron didn’t do shit; I think I might actually have to transfer.”

“You’re not transferring. You just have to get over it.”

“Are you kidding? She’s like a cat in heat when he’s around,” Derek says with a smirk. “I think I’m getting horny just because she’s horny.”

“Okay, so why can’t I have that effect on him?” you ask with your arms open. “Do you think it’s the pheromones? Maybe they’re incompatible. Smell me—does it turn you on?” you ask Spencer, presenting your neck, and he looks like a deer in the headlights, then leans in to sniff you.

“Uh… you smell nice?” he says with a shrug and a half smile. “I think it’s just your perfume, though.”

“Put your face near her boobs,” Derek says, and Spencer starts to lean in again. “I think the pheromones are stronger there.” He pauses about halfway to your chest.

“Actually, they’re stronger near the genitals, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“What’s going on down there?” You freeze and then turn to look up at Aaron’s office, where he leans against the doorframe; Spencer stands up comically fast, and you take a step back, clearing your throat. Aaron’s scowling—it’s really sexy and it’s making your heart beat in your stupid, traitor pussy—and then he sighs visibly. “We have a case, come on.”

The case is only a half hour away, so you drive, which is horrible, because you are with Aaron and Derek, and Derek lets you sit in the front just to watch you squirm.

It gets bad before you even pull out of the parking garage, because Aaron puts his hand on the back of your headrest to look behind him and reverse the SUV, and you look over at his body—his stomach, his lap, his thighs—and then quickly face forward when he puts the car into drive. You’re flushed, breathing heavily, and when he looks you over quizzically, asks if you’re alright, you just clear your throat and nod.

“Allergies,” Derek supplies from the back, and you mentally thank him for the save, but you kind of also want to smack him for putting you in this position in the first place.

You’re practically turned on the entire ride, even as you go over the details of the case, because his legs are spread and your eyes keep moving to his crotch; at one point, you think you notice his already unfairly tight pants getting a little tighter, but it’s just a trick of light.

By the time you arrive at the precinct, you are more than ready for fresh air, to put some distance between yourself and Aaron. You’re out of the car almost as soon as he turns off the engine, which probably looks weird as hell, but for your sanity you can’t give it too much thought.

The head detective and a junior detective give you a run down on the case while the other half of your team meets with officers at the crime scene. The head detective, a tall, handsome man in his forties, is looking at you like you’re a juicy steak and he hasn’t eaten in months; Derek notices, turns to you with a raised eyebrow and mouths ‘pheromones,’ Aaron is clearly unhappy about the detective’s lack of professionalism, and you couldn’t really care less about the attention. You just want to do your job and go home and touch yourself to thoughts of your boss… as one does.

The local police already have a board made up, so the three of you travel to speak with some witnesses, head back to the precinct, work the tip lines. Aaron seems to be looking at you more than usual, and when you get up to stretch your legs, he’s right behind you, following you out into the hall.

“Are you sure you're alright today?” he asks with a serious expression, hands on his hips. Your mouth waters. “You’ve been acting a little strange.”

“Stranger than normal?” You try to smile, to lighten the mood, but as oblivious as he’s been about everything else, he’s always been able to tell when you try to hide your emotions with humor.

“The last couple weeks? Yes.” He moves a little closer, and you try your best not to let it affect you—or at least not to let it show when it does. “You know by now that you can come to me anytime, for anything.” He doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s clear on his face that he’s looking for an answer.

“I know. I’m going through something… stupid,” you say with a shrug. “Something I should be able to handle, but it’s harder than I imagined.” He frowns, flicks his eyes over your face.

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t; trust me, you can’t,” you say, pleading with your voice, begging him to drop it. “I’ll get through it.” You shut your eyes briefly, exhale, and he reaches down to take one of your hands in his.

“Are you in trouble?” This is the most intimately he’s ever touched you, and it’s not just your body that sings; you know you’re in love with him, have been for a while, but focusing on the horny feelings is easier. It makes it feel like you have less to lose.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need some time. Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, and then Derek pokes his head into the hall behind him.

“We got a tip about the unsub barricading a house downtown; the detective is mobilizing SWAT,” he says; when he glances down at your hands, you pull yours softly out of Aaron’s grasp.

“What do you want us to do, boss?” you ask, effectively ending your conversation, and he tells you to get suited up with comms and Kevlar so the three of you can head to the new scene. Aaron is, unsurprisingly, a complete badass, storming the house along with SWAT, you at his side; it’s his way of reminding you that he trusts you, that it can and should go both ways—he is so perfectly predictable, reassuring with gestures over words even in a situation like this one. It does nothing to help you stop wanting him.

He’s a little rough with the unsub (and that doesn’t help either,) looks ruffled and kind of pissed when you climb in the SUV to head back to the precinct. Spencer, JJ, and Emily meet you there, and you take the opportunity to vent about how indescribably good Aaron has looked all day—Spencer bows out of the conversation early, but JJ and Emily are kind enough to listen to your insane, horny ramblings.

“He’s just so hot—he always has been, but the new suits? They’re so tight, and his shirts show off his tummy, and his pants show off his thighs… You guys will never understand the things I want to do to him.”

“Okay, he’s handsome enough, but you’re nasty about it—I can’t handle you,” JJ says, not for the first time. You groan in response.

“How can you say that? Have you fucking seen him? I’m not supposed to think nasty thoughts when he walks around looking like that?”

You feel yourself getting a little out of hand, and Emily and JJ look like they’re trying to shut you up, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s like the floodgates have opened.

“He’s never going to know what I want to do to him… what I want him to do to me. I tried so hard, and he didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was get on my knees for him and grab his ass so he could fuck my throat as hard as fucking possible—is that so much to ask for?” You pause, but neither of them say anything, just look scandalized. “I guess I’m going to have to name my vibrator Hotch now, since that’s clearly the closest I’ll ever get to him giving me an orgasm.”

“Do you really mean that?”

You jump a fucking foot, spin around, almost knocking Emily and JJ over in the process; Aaron is in front of you, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his vest (he hasn’t taken that thing off yet? You threw yours on the table like the minute you got back), and your mouth opens and your eyes close at the same time.

Oh fucking fuck.

“We’re gonna… go,” Emily says awkwardly, and you open your eyes abruptly when Aaron speaks again.

“No, we’re going to go; come with me,” he tells you, and he turns and heads down the hall; you look back at Emily and JJ, swallow hard, and follow him, your heart beating fast.

He steps into a small room with a copy machine, table, shelves of paper and envelopes and other supplies, and closes the door behind you, engages the lock. You are torn between being very worried he’s going to fire you and super turned on, because this is definitely a fantasy you’ve had before.

“Aaron,” you begin, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. I think it was the adrenaline; it makes me run my mouth and I can’t stop it, you know that.” He’s facing away from you, his hands on his hips again, and you can see the way his body moves when he sighs.

“Did you mean it, though?” When he turns to look at you, he doesn’t look angry, he looks… nervous. “Do you want me?” His reaction is unexpected—not great, but not necessarily bad—and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah. So fucking bad. And I’m sorry—” That’s as far into your apology as you get before his mouth is on yours, his hands on your face, lips pressing against you for a rough, eager kiss. Your hands move to his waist, pulling him closer by the vest, and he lifts you up onto the table, tugs down the v-neck of your t-shirt, mouths at your throat.

“You think I didn’t look at you?” he says when he pulls away for a breath, tipping your chin down so you’ll look into his eyes. “You think I didn’t see that lacy red bra, your perfect ass bent over in the tight skirt? You think I didn’t feel it pressed against me in the elevator, that I didn’t want to push that skirt up and sink inside you and take you there in front of everyone?”

You moan, chest heaving, twist your fingers in his hair and pull him in for another kiss, dripping and trembling at his admission.

“I would have let you,” you murmur against his lips, and there’s no doubt in your mind that you would have, if that’s what he’d wanted. “I would let you do anything: not just let you, but I’d want it, beg for it. I meant what I said—I’d get on my knees for you, anytime, anywhere, do whatever you want me to do. I want to be yours.”

He catches your mouth in another rough kiss, then puts his hands on your waist, guides you off the table, and flips open his belt, the fly of his pants.

“Oh god. What are you doing?” you ask, and he slides down his zipper, pulls you with him until his back hits the door.

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he rasps, staring into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. It’s so fucking hot your pussy clenches.

You lick your lips, drop to your knees on the tile floor so hard it hurts, tug his pants open and pull out his thick, hard, veiny cock.

Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.

“Fuck. Thank you,” you mumble, looking up at him, and he wraps his hands in your hair, pulls tightly. You moan just from that and the heft of him in your hand. “Thank you.”

“Shh.” He scrapes his fingers over your scalp, hums as you start stroking him, licking the head. “Don’t thank me—I should be thanking you, beautiful, perfect girl. In what world do I get this?” There are lots of things you want to say to that, but you’ve waited long enough, will have to say them later.

You lick your lips, collect lots of saliva, and take him into your mouth, get your hands on his ass and dig your nails in. Aaron groans, tightens his fingers in your hair, and when you look up at him it feels like a fever dream, like it’s not real but a delicious figment of your imagination.

For a minute or two, you stroke him with a tight, wet mouth, and it’s got you aching between your legs, but he’s supposed to be fucking your throat, technically, if he’s giving you what you asked for. You pull off, tell him that, and he tugs your head back roughly, guides you back onto his cock and starts thrusting into your mouth, earning vibrating moans around it.

“God, you’re so perfect. How long have you been thinking about this? How long have you touched yourself to the thought of me fucking your pretty face?” He picks up the pace, pushes deeper when he sees you can handle it, and you squeeze his ass, feel your eyelids flutter as he uses your mouth, pulls your hair. “Are you a whore for me?” he grinds out, and the moan that rips from your throat is inhuman, embarrassing, and absolutely accurate. “Yes you are, baby, yes you are. My pretty whore, on your knees, mouth stretched wide and filled with cock.”

You’ve never been so turned on from a blow job, but this is Aaron, hot and dirty and forceful, everything you imagined and more. You squeeze him tighter, encourage rougher treatment, and he presses his hands against the back for your head, slams his dick in so deep it aches; you don’t gag, but it’s a near thing, and when he pulls you off you gasp for breath and whimper at the loss at the same time.

“Enough of that, baby. You were perfect, so good for me, almost choking on my cock, but I bet your pussy is wet and aching. Do you want me inside it?”

“Holy—yes, fuck, please. Please,” you breathe, and he helps you to your feet and then pushes you against the door, gets your pants down. His rough treatment has you whining, gripping the hair on the back of his head, and you kick off your boots and socks so you can step out of your pants completely. “Keep all this on,” you tell him, pants and shirt and tie and Kevlar vest and all, and he nods, kisses you deeply, presses two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans when you receive him easily, soft and wet and open, and he uses his free hand to sweep down your top, slipping the buttons loose so he can get a better view of your tits and black lace bra that’s holding them. “So beautiful, and finally mine,” he mutters against your throat, and you whine, let your head fall back against the door, and give in to the pleasure of his thick fingers moving inside you.

“Finally mine,” you murmur, tugging his hair, slamming down against his hand, and when you come it’s like a miracle; you cry out, clamp down, and wrap your free hand around his bicep and squeeze until you’re lightheaded, dazed, desperate for another.

You kiss, deep and passionate and filthy, and Aaron slides his fingers into your mouth, pumps them a few times, then kisses you again.

“Good girl. Are you ready for my cock now?” You pant, gasp, and nod your head, and he pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lifts your legs so you’ll wrap them around his waist, and pushes inside you. You both moan, kiss, moan again, and then you wrap your arms around his broad back, hook your fingers in his vest, and hold on while he pounds your body roughly against the door.

“Oh, Aaron, fuck. Yeah. Want you to slam your body against mine; want to feel it, want to feel all of you.” He looks into your eyes, breathing hard, fucks up into you, hands on your ass, his hips and torso pinning you in place.

“Sweet, pretty, slutty girl,” he pants, spreading you open and shoving himself inside your pussy. “You tried tempting me, and oh, did it work. I might not have shown it…” He ducks in to kiss the base of your throat and you cling tighter, rock against his hips. “But it worked. You dressed like a whore just for me, just so I’d notice you; do you I know went home and stroked my cock and came with your name on my lips?”

“Holy shit. That’s so hot.” You move a hand to his hair again, can’t not thread your fingers there now that it’s allowed. “Could have fucked me like this then. Could have come in my pussy, not your hand.”

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he promises, and he thrusts up with his whole body, so you can feel it pressed against yours—shoulders, chest, stomach, all the very best parts of him. “I’m not too much for you? Can you take it?”

“Perfect for me,” you gasp, holding tightly to his vest at his shoulder and his shirt at his hip, bouncing into his thrusts. “So perfect, want you. I can take it. I can take it, Aaron.” Your mouths meet for a messy, hot kiss, lots of tongue, and you groan. “Give it to me, give it all to me.”

He bends his knees a little more, fucks you so rough and hard your mouth falls open and all you can do is whimper, clutch him, gracelessly kiss back when he presses his lips to yours.

He comes first, holds tightly to your hip and pumps inside you, fills you and then some, so it drips out while he’s still inside. It feels sinful, even after everything, and with a few rough drags of his palm over your lace covered nipple, you tighten and grip him and gasp out his name.

You both slow, and then he turns you, leans back against the door for a little relief after holding you up for so long. He nuzzles into your hair, and you bury your face in his neck, and you kiss soft and sweet until you’re feeling stable enough to hop out of his arms and put your clothes back on. He rights his as well, and when you’re both put together he wraps you up in a hug, kisses you, holds you with soft hands on your cheeks.

“I really have waited so long for this.” He brushes his lips over yours, and you sigh. “You never indicated… I was trying to be professional. Then out of nowhere you were leaning over my desk and bending over the table, and I was a little blown away.” You nod, can see that, pull him down for a kiss.

“It’s the goddamn suits,” you say with a half smile, and he gives you a curious look. “Your new, better fitting suits? They fit you so fucking well it’s almost illegal; I’m thinking of pursuing charges against your tailor for reckless endangerment on behalf of my libido, and the coffee carafe, and my poor, worn out vibrator.” He chuckles, hugs you closer, squeezes you so tightly against his body you almost pass out from all the good things you feel.

“Maybe we can strike a deal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back behind your ear, and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll think of something you can do to make it worth my while.” After a little more hugging and kissing, the two of you figure it’s time to emerge from the supply closet; you don’t see your team anywhere, which surprises you, but when you get to your phone and pull up your texts, it all makes sense.

Derek: Congrats on the sex. The four of us headed home because no one wants to ride with the two of you and your pheromones.

Emily: Yay, you did it!! Drinks on me next time we go out!

JJ: You guys are loud; don’t make a habit of that.

Penelope: I hear congrats are in order! And by hear, I don’t mean hear. There’s NOT an audio clip or anything, so don’t worry about that!!

Spencer: Emily took an audio clip. Is it normal for girls to enjoy being called a whore? You don’t have to answer that.

You take a very deep breath, give him the gist of the messages—you’re on your own, they heard at least part of it, there is some potentially damning evidence that needs to be destroyed—and you leave the precinct to head home in a better mood than you’ve been in in a very long time.

Aaron takes you out for a late dinner, and he spends the night at your place, falls asleep warm and solid and very naked in the middle of your bed.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #prompt

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thechangeling · 2 years

Text

If I keep my Eyes Closed

Holy shit it's been a minute. I'm sorry I am ✨Mentally Ill✨ and I also had a bad case of writers block. But here we are! Also if you recognize the slight Buffy the vampire slayer reference you get a metaphorical cookie.

Cw: meltdown

Chapter 6: You better make me better

+1. Ty had a scar on the top of his collarbone. It wasn't super big or noticable. Just a little slit of white. Kit doubted most people would have even noticed. Unless of course you were completely fucking obsessed like him.

He had been trying to stay focused on the meeting. Imminent death and all. That was kind of a big deal. But he just couldn't stop staring at Ty and thinking about what Alyssa had said. There was this knee jerk reaction to not believe anything she said about Ty because it just couldn't be true. Not for any of the reasons she thought but because Kit just wasn't the person you fell madly in love with.

Kit was useful. Kit was good for certain things. And yeah sure there were people who cared about him now. He was starting to realize over the years, with the help of therapy that the shit his dad put him through was less then ideal. And he was worthy of love.

He still felt weird thinking that but he was sort of hoping that if he just said it in his head enough times it would stick. But the thing was, Ty was, well ty. Beautiful and brilliant Ty. Innovative, curious and adventurous Ty with so much light and life buzzing inside of him. Messy imperfect and stubborn Ty who could be so tender and then so damn cold when he wanted to be.

How could Kit ever deserve that? Ty's love?

And based on what Alyssa said, how the hell was Kit worthy of that? That all encompassing, consuming love?

The meeting adjourned for the night and Janessa gave him a look that he knew meant "I know you weren't paying attention you idiot." He smirked at her, trying to seem casual.

"You going to sleep? She asked. "I'm going out. Gonna see if there's any good bars around here. You know, creature of the night and all."

Kit shook his head. "No sorry Nessie, there's something I gotta do." He felt guilty for blowing off his best friend but he was worried that if he didn't talk to Ty now he would loose his nerve .

Janessa nodded almost knowingly. "Good luck with that."

She walked off and Kit immediately turned back to the crowd of people heading off to their respective rooms. He spotted Ty off in the corner talking to Livvy and Alyssa, which had to be tricky since they couldn't see each other. Eventually Alyssa hugged Ty, pressing a kiss to his check which still made Kit angry, and left the room.

Kit realized it wasn't actually the affection he was jealous off. It was the trust. Ty trusted her completely. And Kit had lost that. And he needed to get it back. Whatever it took.

And then Ty looked at him and his heart stopped. Because Ty wasn't just looking at him, he was staring directly into his eyes for the first time in years.

Kit had forgotten how to breathe. His eyes were so striking. So gray. Like the colour of iron. Ty had always reminded him of iron. Strength and resilience. It may bend but it does not break.

But was that really true? Or was Ty just pretending to be unbreakable?

Kit had no idea what to do or say, so he just stood there staring at Ty. It was like they were frozen in time. Honestly Kit could have stayed there forever just staring at Ty.

Finally Ty broke the silence and pulled his face into a scowl. "What is it?"

Kit flinched at the harshness in his voice. He knew what Alyssa had said, that he was just protecting himself but that didn't stop Kit from feeling so vulnerable and scared.

So he was still a bit of a pussy. Sue him.

But in his defense Ty was kind of scary when he wanted to be. Kit cleared his throat.

"I need to talk to you," he said firmly. It was only then that he realized Livvy had disappeared from Ty's side.

Ty looked confused. "Why?" He asked. "Why now? You have been avoiding me for weeks Christopher."

Kit scoffed. "You've been avoiding me too you know!"

Ok so this wasn't exactly going according to plan. But sometimes Ty just pushed his buttons a little too well.

Kit took a deep breath. "Listen I'm sorry ok? About all of it. I'm sorry for leaving and I'm so sorry I hurt you." He could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. "Believe me that was the last thing I wanted. I just-" he shook his head. "I got scared. I got so scared of something happening to you and I froze up and just lost my shit. And it was like you didn't even care."

Ty's brow furrowed. "I did care. I do care. Why else would I be here?"

Kit sighed. "I know! Believe me I get it now! Or maybe not fully but I know I read things wrong. But I need you to know that it wasn't about you Ty, it was about me. Me and my own insecurities." Kit took a step towards Ty. He didn't back away.

And Kit could see it now, what he couldn't before. There was a longing depth in Ty's gaze and his jaw was clenched like he was trying to keep walls up. His arms were wrapped around himself and he seemed to be pulling at the skin.

He was hurting and Kit just wanted to make it better.

"Listen to me," Kit said carefully. "I love you Ty. I am in love with you." His chest aches as he says it, heavy with the weight of it. But he needs Ty to hear him this time. He needs to know.

"Stop it," Ty growled. And whatever Kit thought Ty's reaction would be to hearing those words, he didn't think it would be anger. Ty glared at him furiously, angrier that Kit had ever seen him before. "Just stop."

And if Kit was smart or even remotely sane, he would have. But he just couldn't.

"I love you," he declared again desperately. "I love you so much."

Ty snarled, balling his hands into fists. "Stop!"

Kit shook his head softly. "I love you."

Ty lashed out at the speed of lightning, grabbing Kit's shoulders and spinning him around so that his back slammed against the wall. Before he could even register what was happening he felt a blade kissing his throat.

"Shut up!" Ty pleaded. His voice sounded less angry and more desperate and shaking now.

Kit could remember the last time he was in this position. The very first time they met, a shadowhunter he had never met before pulled a weapon on him and he wasn't scared, he wasn't furious. He was just in awe.

How beautiful.

"I love you Ty, He gasped breathlessly, willing Ty to believe him. To feel it. "I swear to you I'm not lying. I. Love. you."

Ty trembled, the blade he was holding pressing even harder again Kit's throat. His eyes were full of tears. Kit felt a pang in his chest. Ty hardly ever cried.

He was well aware that Ty could take his head off like this, or slit his throat and let Kit bleed out. Kit didn't care.

If he was going to die, he wanted these to be his last words.

"I love you Ty," he whispered.

Ty let out a whine as his body shook. The hand holding the knife was practically vibrating.

And then Kit felt it. A sharp pain at his throat, followed by a wet feeling. It probably should have bothered him more him more.

But the most concern he felt was when he saw Ty's eyes widen in horror when he saw that he had drawn blood. He let out a panicked wail.

"Hey," Kit cooed gently. "I'm ok." He gripped Ty's wrist carefully, leading the knife away from him. "I'm ok Ty."

He had no idea if that was actually true but he really didn't give a crap. What Kit cared about was the way Ty had dropped the knife and anxiously fluttering and tapping his fingers. He rolled his shoulder up to his ear, scrunching up his face.

"Hey," Kit murmered desperately, trying not to scare Ty. "It's ok baby, I'm ok." He tried to reach for him but Ty flinched out of his grasp whining again. Tears were streaming down his face.

Kit's heart felt like it was breaking. "Ty it's gonna be ok," he pleaded, but Ty just shook his head frantically and pulled at his hair. Kit slowly took another step towards him.

"Please just tell me what to do."

But Ty just sobbed, gasping for air. Kit reached for him again and took Ty into his arms and this time he didn't fight him. Kit wrapped himself around Ty and squeezed as tightly as he could. Ty buried his face in Kit's neck and wailed, a sound so full of fury and agony. It was a sound that Kit had heard many times when his friends or other autistic people were having meltdowns.

Kit pressed a kiss to the side of his head like he had seen Alyssa do. "It's ok sweetheart just let it out," he whispered. "I love you."

Ty gasped, taking frantic breaths. "I can't," he whimpered. "I can't. It's not safe."

Kit had no idea what Ty meant by that. Alyssa would know his traitorous brain whispered. But he wasn't Alyssa. He was Kit, and he needed to trust that was good enough for Ty. That he was what Ty wanted.

He held him tighter, running a gang through Ty's hair. "Yes it is," he breathed. "You are safe with me Ty. You are always safe with me."

Kit had no idea how long he stayed like that, just holding Ty in his arms. Time seemed to just fade away. He still remembered the first time. When they were both still so young and had no idea what was in store for them. When he had no idea what he was feeling, why he felt so compelled to stay.

Ty's cries were lessening now, Kit could feel his heart racing against his. It was almost as if they were both trying to break free and merge. Ty sighed and wiped his eyes on Kit's shirt, finally staring at him again.

"You're bleeding," He pointed out.

Oh yeah. Right.

Kit realized with a laugh that he had completely forgotten. Ty looked confused.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Ty wasn't convinced. "Still, you should let me give you an iratze," he protested. "I should never have-"

Kit cut him off. "It's ok, I'm fine Ty. Really."

Ty gave him a small smile and cupped his cheek, tracing over Kit's orbital bone with his thumb. Kit felt his heart soar.

"Ty," he said quietly not wanting to break the peace. "I need to ask you something. Please."

"Yes?" Ty looked scared.

"I don't want to upset you again, said Kit carefully. "But I just need to know. I think I already know the answer but I need to hear you say it. Just once and then you never have to say it again." Kit slid his hands up Ty's arms.

"Do you love me?" Kit murmered. It was what he should have asked that day on the beach. But then again Ty might not have been ready to answer. He might not even have known the answer yet.

Ty was silent. For several agonizing seconds he said nothing. Then he pressed his forehead to Kit's and whispered so quietly that Kit wouldn't have heard him if he wasn't so close.

"I love you."

Kit couldn't help himself. He sobbed, letting four years of misery and anguish come pouring out.

For years now he had been dreaming of Ty saying those words to him. Each time Kit would wake up in tears because he was so sure those dreams could never be reality.

Ty nudged his nose against Kit's. "Don't cry."

Kit choaked on a laugh. Easier said than done.

Ty cupped his face gently, stroking his cheek. " Please don't cry," Ty whispered.

And then he kissed him.

Ty's lips crashed into his and for a moment Kit's heart stopped before he felt a surge of emotion propelling him into action. He passionately returned the kiss, pulling Ty even closer and getting lost in his warmth.

Nothing else mattered. Ty loved him. Ty loved him. And he could feel it so clearly in the urgency and gentleness of his touch. In the way he licked into Kit's mouth and deepened their kisses like he was trying to devour Kit. Devour him whole.

The world faded to nothing as they kissed feverishly, clawing at each others skin. It was intoxicating. It felt like Ty was touching every single nerve in his body. Kit felt Ty's run his hands through his curls and pull. He let out a slight moan in response.

He could still feel their hearts racing together as Ty pinned him firmly against the wall. He broke the kiss and smiled slightly, something Kit rarely saw especially lately. It made him want to smile too.

It always did. Ty's happiness was like a balm for the soul.

Ty leaned in again and kissed the spot above the corner of Kit's mouth. One of his freckles, Kit realized.

Kit sighed. His head was spinning. He felt so light, like he was floating. Like he finally knew it was gonna be ok. He was gonna be ok.

It felt like coming home.

*Five years later*

Ty had always been fascinated with the night sky, even as a child. He loved to look up at the stars and trace the various constellations with his gaze, even making up new ones. He would draw specific patterns, organizing them into groups and categories.

Or he would count them.

Livvy always thought it was ridiculous.

You can't count them all Ty-Ty. That's impossible.

It's not about counting all of them, He would say. I just like to count them. It calms my mind.

Then Livvy would giggle and say how ironic that was seeing how much he hated math.

Ty could look back on the memory know with fondness and smile instead of being overcome with grief. He had lost Livvy some time ago, a few months after he and Kit had entered a romantic relationship. The connection had become too weak and it wasn't safe to attempt to keep her with them.

It was painful. But this time it was almost bearable. Like there was some part of him that had been preparing for that moment for awhile. And he still grieved, in the sense that he was fine for weeks and then it hit him like a tsunami. And the he cried. He screamed. He yelled and lashed out any anyone nearby.

But through it all, Kit was always there. His fiance now. The word still brought a bubbly giddy feeling. It was almost ridiculous how much Kit Herondale had an affect on his emotions. He could completely take Ty over and Ty wouldn't mind.

Speaking of...

"Hey!" Kit called from up ahead, "look what I found!"

They were walking along the beach at night eager to take a break from the party that was going on back at the institute. It was Helen's birthday and Aline had insisted on inviting everyone they knew, which of course resulted in enough noise and chaos that they could still hear it on the beach.

Kit had run ahead as he had a tendency to do on occasion and now was returning with something in his hands. A turtle, Ty realized. The sight instantly brought on fond memories, memories of when things were still new and they barely knew each other. But it still felt right. It still felt safe.

"I've decided to name him Murtle," Kit said cheerfully. "Murtle the turtle."

Ty shook his head fondly. "How do you know it's a male turtle? Should you really be assuming the turtle's gender?"

"Oh fuck off," Kit replied lightheartedly. "What can I say, I got a feeling. You wanna hold Murtle?" He held the very unimpressed looking turtle out to Ty.

Ty grinned, taking Murtle out of Kit's out stretched palms. "Of course I do."

"That's the smile," Kit murmered, almost to himself. "You smiled the same way the first time I saw you holding a turtle."

"I was just thinking about that!"

Kit gazed at him lovingly, his eyes so full warmth and devotion. "I swear Ty, sometimes it's like the only reason I get out of bed in the morning. For a change to see that smile."

Ty's chest clenched. He thought of his own dark days with cloudy thoughts and heavy limbs. "I know how you feel," he murmered. He cupped the side of Kit's neck and leaned down to brush his lips against his.

"Excuse me?" A timid voice sounded beside them. They both turned to look.

She appeared to be a girl about Mina's age, around 9 years old. She had two puncture wounds that had scarred over on her neck.

A vampire.

Ty had always known that there were vampires trapped in child form for eternity. He had just never actually seen one up close. She could technically be hundreds of years old and she looked like a little girl.

It was quite fasinating.

Ty resisted the urge to ask her any questions that might be deemed inappropriate.

"Hello," he responded cautiously. Ty then realized he was still holding Murtle the turtle. Kit glanced over at him and seemed to realize this as well.

"Oh. Yeah uh, Ty you should probably go put Murtle back while I talk to Sarah."

Kit knew her?

"Wait," the girl (Sarah his brain supplied) spoke up. "I actually just wanted to ask you about your necklace," she pointed to the Herondale pendent resting against Ty's chest. "Does that mean you're engaged?"

Ty tried not to laugh as the Deja Vu hit him. He could remember clear as day all those years ago every time people assumed he and Kit were together

He looked over at Kit who looked nervous, almost as if he was afraid of what Ty's answer would be. That wiped any amusement from the situation.

Because Ty knew what he was thinking about. All of those times people made those assumed at reacted in anger and annoyance. Maybe even what may have seemed like disgust.

It was fear. Ty always knew that. Fear of being vulnerable, of admitting what he wanted. He never wanted to make Kit feel like he was ashamed of him or of his love for him.

Ty wanted to spend the rest of his life bathing Kit in his love so that he never felt alone or afraid ever again.

He reached for Kit's hand and squeezed it tightly, turning back to Sarah with a proud smile.

"Yes we are."

And we're done y'all! Btw if you're wondering I got the name Murtle from the Dr. Suess novel Yurtle the turtle.

Tagging: @lavender-scented-rat @littlx-songbxrd @queenlilith43 @arangiajoan @tired-vin @phoenix-and-dragon @amchara @wagner-fell @sandersgrey @the-wckd-powers @spooky-drusilla @unhinged-aroace @the-blackdale @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas

#kit x ty #twp #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #cw. meltdown

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tippytopdays · 3 years

Text

Reason

-sips tea-

I wrote this instead of working on other things solely because i had an idea.

The thrilling third part to these two

Weak Tenacity

_____________________________________________________________

The metal bits between his fingers were so small he wasn’t really sure why he was trying. They clanged about whenever he made even the slightest twitch let alone actually pick them up to fiddle with them, to clean them like he was intending to.

He didn’t know why you’d remained. Why you hadn’t just bolted when the opportunity presented itself. You were just so damn weak, it was hilarious honestly. He could probably knock you over with a stiff breath on your neck. Yet here you were, resilient as a tumor.

And they said he was insane.

He wasn’t an idiot, nor so up himself that he wouldn’t hear what the other mercs would say behind his back. The rumors that would whisper down the halls about what he’d done, the acts of violence so petty and levels of brutality so intense that they’d send a seasoned MAG running.

They weren’t exactly wrong, per say, but he didn’t enjoy having others speak about him without his knowledge. Not that they’d ever know he was there, just outside the doors listening to their every word. He knew everything that went down in this base, after all. From the muttered rantings of that doctor to the sarcastic quips of the mildly entertaining smoker; there wasn’t a damn thing that went down in that base that he wasn’t at least aware about.

And then there was you. Simple, meek, pathetic you.

Why had he gone out of his way to just, bring you here? To save you? To help you? Maybe you just looked particularly pathetic that day and it was getting on his nerves?

The tool flipped in his hands, metal clinking as it loosened another screw.

No, he knew why. He just hated it.

Because you just had to be in that alley, just had to hold him, to comfort him when he was the weakest he’d been in years. Damn Agents got lucky.

A piece clicked free, the screws clattering on the table.

Never again.

After he’d hauled you in like the fresh corpse you were mere days from he’d gotten a rather nasty glare from the good doctor. Once he was satisfied you weren’t actually dead he’d turned on him, ready to snap at him for something or another but he’d simply turned his back, tromping up the stairs to his room.

Like Hell was he going to sit through another lecture. Or anything else he wanted to do to him. The blood wasn’t his anyway; or yours.

More screws undone, more pieces pulled apart. It was already quite a mess but he still had a lot to take out and separate before he could get to the meat of the matter.

Visiting Doc became your norm for several days. With how weak and malnourished you were the man didn’t seem to like the idea of you wandering around without some weight on your bones to steady you. Not to mention the mess you’d been made into from living in what he could only assume was an actual dumpster from how nasty you looked.

Now that he thought about it why did he carry you? You could walk, couldn’t you?

Whatever, he probably would have done it regardless of how bad you smelled. Not like he could trust you to actually be unarmed

The doctor’s plan to get your appearance into some kind of order wasn’t something he’d been privy to at the time. It was certainly something to get accustomed to at first. He didn’t even recognize you once Doc had finished cutting your hair, nearly slicing your throat the second he’d seen you again.

A twitch, the tool missed the mark and scraped across the metal. His brow twitched; odd, but nothing serious. No scratches at least.

He continued.

It only took a snippet of your voice to bring him to his senses. Granted it was also because he’d taken the time to actually look at you. Staring into his prey’s eyes as the life faded from them was something he’d relish, the fear and terror coating their black pits made it all the more satisfying to dispose of the freaks. But with yours it didn’t look right, didn’t sit well.

He’d stepped a bit too far away from you after that.

You’d been stuck wandering the base to pass the time once you’d been cleared, since there wasn’t anything that you could do anyways. No job was simple enough for your weak hands and nothing within the computers was for your eyes to see; you were completely useless to them honestly. Just another mouth to feed. More supplies to waste.

And yet, you were allowed to stay despite that.

The grip popped open along the seam, allowing better access to the mechanisms inside.

He hadn’t done much after dropping your ass off with Doc. There were better, more interesting things than some random woman he’d hauled off after all. However he’d still run across you on occasion. Sometimes you’d be in his presence, sometimes he’d be in yours. But there was no real interaction, not since he’d brought you here. Hell he’d never even spoken to you; not like you were worth the time of course but, it was something he’d noticed.

But he didn’t have any reason, no answer as to why he’d even brought you here. You were just some stray, a useless pain in the ass that he’d have to deal with.

More screws, more bits. He’d never really dug into one of these things but now that he had he could understand some of the mercs appall at how he treated them. It wasn’t enough to make him care, sure, but he could at least see why.

Maybe it was how your voice was soft enough he’d almost missed it.

“….Can I….ask you s-something…?”

Just the sound of your voice had snapped him out of whatever thoughts he’d had, the lenses of his goggles turning to face you.

You were shuffling on your sock clad feet, nearly shivering on the spot once his eyes landed on you standing there with the door at your back. Your hands fiddled with something, some small bit of rubbish you’d probably had on your person as you made to speak again, “…W-Why…Why did y-you bring me here?”

He’d sat there, staring at you for a good few moments while you shuddered under his gaze. And for the first time since he’d met you, he spoke.

“I have no fucking idea.”

It definitely wasn’t what you wanted to hear, if he wanted to judge from the furrow in your brow, but it was the truth. No point in lying about it anyways, not like you were worth it. What were you going to do anyways, stare at him disappointedly? No thanks, there was already enough slots taken in that thank you very much.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been thinking about once you’d left, even if he’d thought it was important to ruminate on it for the past half hour.

Maybe it was because after that conversation you seemed more, prominent. For whatever personal reason you’d come up with.

Usually you ended up appearing somewhere nearby or at least entering the room at some point. For a few days he’d believed you were stalking him, until of course he’d payed slightly more attention to notice the way you jumped whenever you spotted him. How you flinched away each time he even did so much as glance in your direction. With how pathetic you were, of course it made little sense to stalk anyone, let alone him of all people.

He would have chased you off if you were, however. Stormed up to you and scared the living Hell out of you to keep you off his case.

The crunch between his fingers brought him out of his thoughts. It had snapped quite easily, the end of the tool hanging limply from the handle. Unusual but it didn’t hinder him much, he had extras; the mercs were good at one thing at least.

Not a good idea. Doc would have his balls again if he could judge by the sudden irritation in the man’s face—or whatever he could see of it—when he even mentioned you. He wanted to stay a man for a bit longer; not because he was scared of the doctor but because then he couldn’t piss off the grunts anymore.

Maybe it was the weakness in your hands. The tiny, useless little mitts that you had were so pathetically small that nothing could stay in them normally let alone any weapon you might have found. You couldn’t even grip a railing without slipping, which he found utterly hilarious.

He hadn’t moved so fast without intent to kill until you’d nearly fallen off the second story.

A sharp squeal broke that train of thought. The nice jagged scratch across the black steel glinted in the light. Hope that wasn’t too important.

Maybe it was how small you were. Granted, everyone was ridiculously dwarfed the second he entered a room. It was a habit now, to stare at them from so high above their heads. So small, so weak.

Easy prey.

But you were particularly tiny, almost mockingly so. Most of the mercs at least had some muscle to them but you still remained so fucking pathetic even after Doc’s so-called therapy. You’re shoulders were thin, your limbs even more so. Not even your face was spared by the lack of mass in your cheeks. You were just, far too small.

You wouldn’t survive at all if he’d left you out there by yourself for any longer.

Another click, the firing pin popping out with a clatter. He carefully scooted it to the side.

Maybe, when he thought about it, it was because you were nice.

Nice was the best way to put whatever it was you would do when others would be upset over something. It was odd how you would fret over Doc’s muttering fits, how you’d clutch at his arm and drag him back to his office. Just bizarre how the smoker would relax when you’d enter one of the training decks, water in hand and a smile on your face despite his presence there watching from the more obscured corners during the mandatory breaks he had to take. Unreal even when the arsonist would offer a friendly wave as you’d enter the cafeteria with your own lunch and offer a seat with you.

The solution stung his nose but he’d have to deal with it. So long as it cleaned, it was necessary. He just hoped he wasn’t cleaning the wrong thing.

He didn’t want to even start with why he’d allowed you into his room. It was inane, if he looked back on it; you’d just find something and get yourself hurt. Or worse, try to betray them—that is if you could even hold onto the weapon in the first place. He had plenty in there, sure, but most of them were supposed to be for someone his size, not a dainty little clump of flesh he’d dragged in.

It was also a mess so that probably had something to do with why you’d reacted the way you did. He had an order for things but you just had to put your own tiny mitts onto everything and make an even bigger mess out of it; organization may not be his style but it wasn’t like he didn’t know where everything was at the least. If he were honest he probably would have chased you out the moment he’d caught you organizing things.

The rag squeaked, nearly tearing when it ran over a particularly sharp bit of metal. Too much force, simple enough. Adjust and clean the parts that looked bad enough.

Maybe it was because when he’d entered again he found you there, face first into a pillow he’d snatched.

Another squeak was followed by a soft rip. Yep, that tore it. No matter, he had another.

You were small, it was hard to miss.

But there, in his room, on his bed, you were positively tiny. A mere fleck of meat on the massive slab that was the bed he’d pilfered at some point or another. It seemed at some point during your attempt at cleaning his room you’d tried to reach behind the head of his bedframe for something, your arm jammed down the crevice between the wall and mattress. How weak you were, then, to fall asleep in the middle of it.

Within the room of the worst predator of all, none the less.

He’d stalked up to you, making no effort to hide his steps and yet you resolutely slumbered on, unaware of his pursuit. Not even a twitch within your sleep as he stood over your body, the lenses of his goggles tinting your form in red.

How dare you, sleep in his bed? Treat his space like it wasn’t inhabited by a living killing machine? Act all nice and forgiving, despite everything? He’d tainted himself, killed thousands; just because he’d spared you didn’t mean you could just do whatever you wanted. He wasn’t your friend; he was barely teammates with anyone.

Slowly, he reached for you.

He’d toss you out, not even flinch if you cried. Threaten to strangle the life out of you the next time you met. Torment you if you kept it up.

Soft strands of your hair tangled in his fingers firmly.

He didn’t care about you. You were just some wretch he’d found, nothing more. He didn’t have friends. He had nobody.

Your head was still just as small in his hand as it was that day.

Yet another rip. Being careful was not his forte.

He should have woken you up, yanked you by your hair and dragged your miserable body off his bed.

But the longer he stared, the longer he let his hand soak in the sheer hear you were giving off, the weaker that desire became. More muddied and unclear.

What was he doing? Why did he come here?

The grip on your hair loosened, the strands trailing down his fingers like water. Heat radiated off of your skull, scorching the palm of his hand.

It was too much.

The cushion of his mattress was blissfully cold, a respite from the heat you’d given. A soft sigh rasped through his teeth.

It was sucked back in again as you shuffled with a soft moan, directly beneath him.

He was never one to startle, nothing surprised him. Freezing was another feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. In combat it was life or death, and while he didn’t fear death nor the Hell that awaited, he couldn’t fathom the idea of something being so terrifying that others would rather do nothing than act.

But when he found himself leaned over, hand braced into the padding of his mattress, towering over you, he had indeed frozen on the spot. If he’d thought you were small before, nothing could even prepare him for the image of you resting cozily on the blankets underneath his bulk. You were so meek, so utterly encompassed that he could simply lean over the bedside and cover you in just his shadow.

You’d vanish completely if he mounted you.

A particularly loud clang was surprising enough to refocus him on the piece he’d been scrubbing at. For far too long, apparently, if the abruptly dismantled barrel said anything.

Maybe it was something he’d done, some form of shuffle or further indenting of the mattress with how heavily he’d started to lean onto it. Whatever he or some other power committed had brought you to stir, a soft breath of air breaking your silence. It didn’t really matter why you were awake, only that you were shuffling as if to move.

There was no thought as he pounced on top of you.

Immediately you’d yelped, scrambling in his hold as he wrangled your limbs into order. What order didn’t matter as long as you stayed still. He’d wrapped his arms around your waist, your squirming body back against his stomach. Once he was hunched over gripping onto you like you were a prize, he stopped.

It burned. Any flicker of movement along his skin was like fire and if he didn’t know any better he’d assume you were some live grenade he’d caught in his hands, ready to explode at any moment from just how hot you were.

Not to mention the scent smothered against his sheets that could only be described as something purely you being smashed into his nose as he’d braced against the pillow you were just laying on.

You whimpered in his hold. He’d gripped harder.

Crushing you in his hands would be easy. Just a twist of a wrist and a pull on an arm and you’d crumple in his hold, spine shattered to bits. You’d die, you’d suffer.

You held onto his hands, your mitts barely able to wrap around his arms to reach them.

You’d leave. And take the heat with you.

Reassembling would be a pain he noticed. The pieces were everywhere, and half of them he’d completely forgotten where he’d even pulled them out from. But he’d figure it out, it’s what he did.

He’d barely noticed when you muttered, voice muffled under his chest. Nothing you said would matter even if you did, he wasn’t letting go. Wasn’t letting you leave.

It didn’t matter if it burned.

Somehow you’d found a footing from his grip on you. In your attempt to find stability or possibly escape you shuffled upwards, ass grinding against his crotch. But he shoved you right back down with a tight snarl forced out of his throat, hips snapping. Finally he’d taken a look, annoyed you’d even considered moving.

He had imagined you’d disappear under him, but the image he was granted was something else entirely. Your face was practically stuffed into the blankets with your ass held up high by his hold. All of your limbs had vanished without any hint that you were there at all aside from your wide eyes; even the edges of his coat had draped over you, free of the confines the harness he normally wore had. You had completely and utterly vanished; if anyone even dared to enter they wouldn’t be able to see a lick of your skin.

This sight, this heat, was his and his alone. A scorching treat for a cold beast.

A sharp huff hissed between his teeth as he ground against you.

What was he doing then?

A soft rumble rasped in his throat when his hold on you loosened.

Why did he let it happen?

Your gasp was so sweet, so delectable. And the heat rising to your cheeks was even more so.

There was nothing to gain from this. You had nothing he wanted. He should have just killed you. Punished you.

The softest of whimpers graced his ears as your head pushed against his chest in attempt to hide. It was so feeble it could have made him coo like you were an animal to tame. Another sharp hump to your backside pulled a squeal, to which he’d laughed. He couldn’t help it.

The slightest of grins tugged on his jaw.

There were many ways to punish. So many delightful and even more delicious ways. Maybe he could show you, teach you.

A dark rumble from his chest had you jolting in his hold, looking up at him. His jaws parted, mask stretching.

Claim you.

The trigger was missing.

He could swear he’d put it together properly; he’d even test triggered a few mechanisms to make sure it would still function. And yet the one piece it needed to actually work was absent. It wasn't even on the table.

A huff whispered through his jaw. Great. And after all he’d done. What a waste of time.

It clattered to the table as he tossed it aside. He’d just use another, nothing lost.

He never cleaned his guns anyways.

#suggestive #madness combat x reader #madness combat #hank j. wimbleton x reader #hank j. wimbleton #my writing

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